It’s hard to believe now, with at least 14 Japanese players gracing Major League Baseball rosters—including the Mets’ own ghost-fork specialist Kodai Senga, the two-way marvel Shohei Ohtani, and Roki Sasaki, who’s set to dazzle for the Dodgers this season—but it all started humbly with one lefty reliever and a lot of curiosity. Back in 1964, Masanori Murakami stepped onto the mound for the San Francisco Giants, becoming the first Japanese player in MLB history. Fast forward six decades, and here’s where it gets fun: there’s a New York Mets connection that adds a surprising twist to Murakami’s groundbreaking journey. Because, let’s face it, when you’re writing about the Mets, there’s always a twist.
Before we dive into Murakami’s story, let’s set the stage. It was the mid-1960s, a time when the Beatles were invading America, the Mets were inventing new ways to lose, and the idea of a Japanese player in Major League Baseball seemed about as likely as Casey Stengel mastering Twitter. Enter Masanori Murakami, a 20-year-old pitcher from Otsuki, Japan, who suddenly found himself in San Francisco, trying to figure out American fast food, English signage, and Willie Mays’ strike zone. What happened next wasn’t just groundbreaking—it was a story full of surprises, culture clashes, and a little Mets magic. Yes, Mets magic. Trust me, it’ll make sense.
Masanori Murakami, affectionately known as "Mashi," has a story straight out of baseball folklore. Born in Japan on May 6, 1944, Murakami wasn’t just the first Japanese player in Major League Baseball—he was a trailblazer who broke barriers with a screwball and a smile. His journey to the big leagues began when the Nankai Hawks, his team in Japan’s Pacific League, sent him stateside as part of a cultural exchange program in 1964. Little did anyone know, this exchange would turn into a baseball standoff worthy of a courtroom drama.
Murakami’s journey to the big leagues was a mix of confusion, opportunity, and, well, a little Mets magic. After arriving in the U.S. as a 20-year-old pitcher on an “exchange program,” Murakami planned to return to Japan by June. But when the Nankai Hawks, his Japanese team, forgot to call him back (or maybe just misplaced his number?), the San Francisco Giants saw a golden opportunity and decided to keep him around a bit longer. Fast forward to September 1, 1964, and there he was—Masanori Murakami, making history as the first Japanese player in Major League Baseball. And of course, his debut would come against the Mets. It’s like the universe knew what was about to happen.
The Mets were cruising with a 4-0 lead in the bottom of the eighth when the loudspeaker blared, “Now pitching! Number 10, Masanori Murakami.” Almost 40,000 fans watched as Mashi walked to the mound, probably wondering what was about to unfold. His first inning? It was a masterclass of efficient pitching. Murakami recalled every batter like it was yesterday: “I threw a perfect strike on the outside, then a strikeout, a hit, another strikeout, and a groundout to short. And I was able to keep my debut score at zero.” In other words, he didn’t just survive; he thrived. He faced four batters—Charley Smith, Chris Cannizzaro, Ed Kranepool, and Roy McMillan—and managed to keep the Mets' bats in check. Mets fans, likely too stunned by the whole “Japanese pitcher” thing to boo, probably just sat there thinking, "Did that just happen?" Of course it did, because when it’s the Mets, you can always expect the unexpected.
A few weeks later, on September 29, he notched his first major league win in dramatic fashion, pitching three scoreless innings in an 11-inning victory over the Houston Colt .45s. In his rookie season, Murakami posted a jaw-dropping 1.80 ERA over nine games. The Giants, understandably smitten with his talent, decided they weren’t sending him back without a fight. What followed was an offseason tug-of-war between the Giants and the Hawks, with Nippon Professional Baseball commissioner Yushi Uchimura playing the role of referee. The compromise? Murakami could play one more season with the Giants before returning to Japan.
In 1965, Murakami proved he wasn’t a one-hit wonder. He appeared in 45 games, struck out 85 batters over 74.1 innings, and recorded a respectable 3.75 ERA. His stats included eight saves and a 4-1 record, making him a reliable left-handed reliever who could baffle hitters with his signature screwball. But as promised, he returned to Japan in 1966.
Back in the Pacific League, Murakami struggled to meet lofty expectations at first but hit his stride in 1968, winning 18 games. Over the next decade and a half, he became a reliable arm in Japan, contributing to league championships with the Nankai Hawks and later with the Nippon Ham Fighters. He even staged a late-career resurgence in 1978, winning 12 games, before retiring in 1982.
Murakami wasn’t overpowering—his fastball barely cracked the low 80s—but he was crafty, mixing in a sharp screwball, a sneaky changeup, and a deceptive curve. He also had the unique ability to disrupt hitters’ timing by getting the ball back from the catcher and immediately firing the next pitch, almost as if he had dinner reservations he couldn’t miss.
Language was one of Murakami’s early hurdles. When he first arrived in the U.S., his English vocabulary was limited to “hello” and maybe “strike.” Armed with a trusty dictionary, he slowly learned to navigate a clubhouse full of slang and sarcasm. But his lack of English skills didn’t stop him from signing a major league contract—although he couldn’t read a word of it.
Murakami’s post-playing career was just as eventful. He served as a pitching coach, scout, and commentator while dedicating himself to charitable causes, including the Special Olympics Japan and the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees. He even managed Japan’s national women’s baseball team, promoting diversity long before it was a buzzword.
The San Francisco Giants honored Murakami’s legacy on several occasions, including Japanese Heritage Nights in 2008 and 2014, where fans received collectible bobbleheads and figurines. The Giants and their fans never forgot Mashi’s contributions to the game—or the fact that he could throw a screwball that seemed to defy the laws of physics.
Masanori Murakami didn’t just break ground—he left the door wide open and put a welcome mat out for future Japanese players to enter Major League Baseball. For thirty years, Murakami held the unique title of being the only Japanese player to grace the MLB diamond. It wasn’t until Hideo Nomo, (ironically made his debut against the Giants) with a little help from some legal wizardry courtesy of his agent, Don Nomura, that the second chapter of Japanese players in the MLB was written. In 1995, Nomo sidestepped Japan’s contract rules with a loophole straight out of a sports lawyer’s dream: the “voluntary retirement” clause. This move allowed Nomo to sign with the Los Angeles Dodgers, and soon, the floodgates opened for Japanese talent.
Since then, Japanese players have made their mark in MLB with everything from All-Star nods to MVP awards, no-hitters, and even World Series rings. Ichiro Suzuki dazzled us with his ten All-Star appearances, Rookie of the Year and MVP honors in the same season, and enough Gold Gloves to outfit a department store. Meanwhile, Shohei Ohtani rewrote baseball history books with his two unanimous MVP wins, double-duty All-MLB Team selections as both a pitcher and designated hitter, and the kind of monster stats that make fantasy leagues blush.
Murakami’s initial steps paved the way for these stars and many others, showing that the Pacific Ocean was no longer a boundary but a bridge. It’s safe to say that if Murakami hadn’t planted that first flag, Nomo, Ichiro, Ohtani, Senga and the rest might still be household names—just in households exclusively in Japan. Instead, the MLB has become a truly global stage, and it all started with one 20-year-old kid nicknamed "Mashi" and a screwball that baffled American hitters and inspired a baseball revolution.
And there you have it—a story that started with a lefty reliever who barely spoke English, threw a screwball that could twist your neck, and accidentally redefined the meaning of “exchange program.” Masanori Murakami didn’t just break barriers; he sent them flying like a Willie McCovey line drive. From his debut against the Mets (because of course it was the Mets) to his eventual legacy as the trailblazer for generations of Japanese stars, Mashi’s journey is proof that baseball has a way of connecting worlds—even if it sometimes takes a translator and a bit of good-natured chaos. And if you think the Japanese talent pipeline is slowing down, think again. The latest import, Rōki Sasaki, is already has people talking about his fastball that seems to leave a vapor trail and a slider that will have hitters questioning their life choices. The new wave of Japanese talent is here to stay, and whether it’s Sasaki, Ohtani,Senga or the next phenom to step off the plane, they’ll be following in Murakami’s footsteps, showing that sometimes the smallest of steps can lead to the biggest changes in the game. Without him, the Pacific bridge might still be under construction, and the game we love wouldn’t be nearly as rich—or as screwball.